


In Dulci Jubilo

by ianthebroome



Category: The Watchmaker of Filigree Street - Natasha Pulley
Genre: Found Family, M/M, Post-Canon, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:48:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21871717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ianthebroome/pseuds/ianthebroome
Summary: Music in the winter.
Relationships: Keita Mori/Thaniel Steepleton
Comments: 31
Kudos: 80
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	In Dulci Jubilo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trismegistus (Lebateleur)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lebateleur/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! I completely share your Watchmaker enthusiasm, and hope you enjoy this treat.

The weather stayed cold that autumn, but by December the snow had stopped and the days were clear and bright. Mori took to sitting in the kitchen late into the mornings as he waited for the workshop to heat up. It meant he was still there when Thaniel came down to breakfast.

He was sitting close to the stove, writing in his journal. There was a letter on the table, propped against a plate of toast, and as Thaniel pulled out a chair he saw that it was addressed to him. Mori didn’t say anything as he read it and then folded it into the back of his dictionary.

‘It’s from Annabel,’ he said in Japanese, tracing his first character. ‘I suppose I’d better go.’

Mori raised his eyebrows. His face was half-buried in his orange scarf.

‘She said something about it at the wedding. I think she felt guilty about the boys not knowing me.’ Though at the time, he thought disloyally, she would have had a visit to the Kensington house in mind, not putting up a bachelor.

‘Are you sure?’ Mori said once he’d tugged his chin free. ‘Edinburgh is bleak. They like to fire cannons when civilized people are having tea.’

‘Well—you know. She is my sister.’

‘Mm.’

‘You don’t mind, do you? I didn’t think you liked Christmas much. You complain enough about all the orders.’

‘It’s more the constant threat of—’ he said a word Thaniel didn’t know. ‘Evangelism,’ he added in English. ‘And the parties.’

Thaniel hummed agreement. There was a pause. ‘I don’t know if they can spare me at the Office, anyway,’ he said. 

‘They can’t, but if you ask Fanshaw nicely when he’s at his embroidery, he’ll give you a week.’

‘Oh. Right, then.’

When he looked up Mori was wrapped in his scarf again, bent over his book. His hair fell into his eyes. It was blond again, and gleamed where it caught the lamplight. Thaniel hadn’t realised how much he’d missed the colour until he’d dyed it back. Odd as it was, it suited him. It was very like his voice. 

Six was sitting alone at Mori’s desk, connecting a brightly-coloured train set. The train wound across the desk on its track, and each time she added a carriage, it moved forward with a little puff of steam. She nodded at Thaniel as he let himself in through the workshop door.

‘Evening. Have you any watches?’ he asked her solemnly. Now that he was inside he could see Mori kneeling behind the desk, fitting more carriages into a box.

‘Stupid,’ she said, but Thaniel thought she looked pleased. She had her own small desk in the corner for her lessons and her clockwork-making, but sat at Mori’s in the full glory of her apprenticeship at every chance she got.

‘Shocking service here.’ He went into the hall to hang up his things, then stuck his head around the door. ‘I’ve got that week. Thanks for the hint. He’d just finished an art pattern and he was in such good spirits he might have stood me for Foreign Secretary if I’d asked.’

‘Well,’ Mori said. ‘Good thing you didn’t.’

‘Quite.’ He came back into the workshop and leant over the desk. Each of the toy carriages was different, with tiny passengers, newspapers, and picnic bags visible within. He wanted to ask if it was a game, but thought better of it.

‘Quality testing,’ Mori said. Six hooked on a last carriage and wound a key, and the train began to chug around the track without stopping. Just before it whistled, Thaniel thought he saw the tiny conductor pull a cord.

Mori worked later than usual that evening on the orders, but Six was still awake when he closed the shop and came to sit with Thaniel in the parlour. He curled up in the new armchair on the other side of the fire. Six had been marching up and down the stairs, chanting to herself, but she ran in when she heard him and threw herself on the hearthrug. ‘Let’s have a story!’ she said.

‘Why don’t you ask Mr Steepleton?’

She turned to Thaniel, who ignored the usual twinge at being second-best. ‘Let me see,’ he said, watching Mori settle in complacently. Mori encouraged storytelling, which he claimed to prefer to books, because when a story was invented on the spot he couldn’t remember the end.

‘There was once a little boy who was apprenticed to a band of pirates,’ he began.

Mori scowled at him. ‘Why don’t you ask Mr Steepleton to tell you a story that isn’t by Mr Gilbert?’

‘But Six likes pirates!’ Six said.

‘You see, his father intended him for a ship’s _pilot_ , but unfortunately his nurse was hard of hearing ... ’

He recited the plot, adding in a few boyhood adventures for Frederic, then to appease Mori invented one of his own, about a chimney-sweep in fairyland. Six was nearly asleep when he finished and Mori only had to prod her once to go to bed. She often stayed up, and always slept very late in the mornings, but neither of them had the heart to be strict, any more than they could scold her for the cakes and buns that disappeared at an amazing rate between meals.

He heard water running upstairs and the floor creaking in her attic bedroom. Mori went into the kitchen to set the bread to rise overnight. He watched the fire for a while, drumming his fingers, then got up and opened the piano: he couldn’t resist picking out some songs from _Pirates_ , though he really ought to have been working on the _Mikado_ , or on his own newly-begun preludes. ‘Take any heart—take mine!’ he murmured along. From the kitchen, there was a thump that sounded rather like a wooden spoon being thrown at the door.

Practice was a few days later. Gilbert’s nerves were worse than usual after the disaster at the show village, so he’d arranged a preview for the following week as a kind of glorified dress rehearsal before performances resumed in the new year. Thaniel still had the score by heart, but Katisha and the chorus kept missing their cues and Sullivan drilled them all on the Act One finale. It was nearly midnight by the time he left the Savoy.

Mori was still working. The kettle was hot on the stove, so Thaniel made a cup of tea and joined him. He was in his shirtsleeves, peering at some open clockwork through a magnifying lens. Thaniel couldn’t make out what it was. A lamp was on the desk, the light focused with a shade, and the coals were smouldering, but the ceiling lights were off and he had to tread carefully around the boxes on the floor.

Mori looked up over his glasses. ‘How was it?’

‘You might be better waiting for the real opening night.’

‘No, I want to come next week. I’ve waited long enough to hear it.’

The desk was covered with watches, assorted parts, and, in the corner, a little silver ship floating in a shell. Thaniel touched the ship and it bobbed in the water. ‘Who are all these for, anyway?’ he said. ‘The Queen?’

‘Yes.’

Thaniel blinked. ‘I see.’

‘Most of them,’ Mori said. He shut the object in front of him with a click and straightened, looking at Thaniel, who came to sit beside him. He pushed the lens out of the way. ‘This is for Six.’

Thaniel caught his breath. It was a golden mouse, perfect down to the metal tufts of fur and stubby whiskers. He picked it up. It felt heavy in his palm, and the head and tail drooped like it was sleeping.

‘A pet,’ Mori said. ‘It isn’t finished. But—’ he reached over and switched off the lamp. For a moment they were in darkness, and then a soft, reddish light began to glow from behind the mouse’s eyes. They were rubies. ‘I think she’ll like that for a night-light. But it’s a little sinister. What do you think?’

‘Don’t change a thing,’ Thaniel said. He set it down. He knew it wasn’t exactly a replacement, but it still made his chest feel tight. Mori lit the lamp and re-opened its workings.

Thaniel watched him adding gears while he finished his tea, chin propped on one hand. The clocks around them ticked out of step. He thought of his own plan of a stocking full of chocolates and sweets. It paled rather against Mori’s gift, but he didn’t mind. And Mori—ought they to exchange Christmas presents? He’d never done so as an adult, if you didn’t count cards and the half of his Christmas allowance he sent to Annabel. But what could one possibly give to a baron who remembered the future?

‘I don’t need gifts,’ Mori answered, before he’d spoken the question. ‘Really. I have too many things already.’

‘I know you do,’ Thaniel said. He turned his cup slowly. ‘It’s just a shame. I can never surprise you, can I?’

‘Surprise me?’ Mori glanced at him. ‘But I’ve told you—that’s just what you do.’

‘I suppose you mean when I say things without thinking about them first.’

‘You do think first,’ Mori said. ‘But it’s—’ he frowned down at his work. ‘Deep. Like you test what you’re going to say, or do, below the surface, and only do it when it rings true. It’s what makes you an artist. You must have surprised yourself before.’

‘Once or twice.’

‘That’s why you’re more interesting to talk to than other people.’

‘Oh, thank you.’ He kicked Mori’s ankle under the desk. The brazier behind them was making the back of his neck feel warm. 

‘You avoid the boringly expected.’ Mori shrugged and tightened a gear. ‘And you’re honest. When I do know what you’re going to say, you don’t mind. Most people object to having their thoughts read, you know.’

‘I don’t see the difference. You only hear if I really am intending to say something. It saves me the trouble of saying it.’

‘No difference if you’re in the habit of meaning what you say.’

Thaniel thought at him pointedly. ‘All right, I’m finished,’ he laughed, elbowing Thaniel back. They were sitting a little too close now, but Thaniel didn’t move away. It was dark enough.

The second violinist tuned his strings. He was trying to do it quietly, but Thaniel dug his nails into his palms at every sharp note.

‘Pray take your time, Mr Evans,’ Sullivan said from the podium. ‘You haven’t an operetta to perform.’ He winked and turned to bow at the audience, who were filing in with a rustle of silk and a hum of voices.

Only friends and family had been invited to the preview, but there seemed to be enough of them to fill half the seats. Among the theatrical types Thaniel saw several rows of people from the show village, looking worried, as well they might. Gilbert’s wife smiled at him from the front and centre.

Mori had said he would come, but he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he hadn’t been up to facing the crowds. Thaniel straightened his music, feeling absurd. He never used to be nervous at recitals. He certainly hadn’t had time to be at the last performance. He’d thought the novelty of the orchestra had worn off, but now, sitting in his evening dress under the electric lights, he might have been back at his first practice.

Sullivan was addressing the audience, who cheered at every pause. There was a muffled laugh from behind the curtain. ‘Looking for your sweetheart, Steepleton?’ someone whispered on Thaniel’s right, making him jump. It was the clarinetist. 

‘Oh—no. Just hoping the press haven’t snuck in. I’m not ready for judgement yet.’

‘Youth must have its fling—tra la la,’ the trombonist murmured gloomily.

A bell rang, signalling them to take up their instruments. Sullivan raised his baton and the overture began. Thaniel didn’t have to come in for a few bars. He scanned the seats once more, and saw Mori at the edge of the lower gallery, leaning over the railing. He saw Thaniel looking and inclined his head. ‘Allegro!’ Sullivan called.

Thaniel joined the musicians, the actors, and a good number of the audience in a drink on the Strand after the show. He’d even convinced Mori to come, with a gesture across the crowds on their way out. The musicians’ pub was seedy but quiet. He found himself in a corner booth, surrounded by violinists, while Mori was a few tables down, talking to Mr Yamashita and a man from the chorus. Yamashita was making sword-fighting gestures and seemed deep in an explanation of the correct stances, via Mori as translator. The actor looked a little put out.

The violinists were gossiping about likely raises if the show was a success. ‘Not that you need it, with your government salary, eh?’ Evans said to Thaniel.

Thaniel snorted. ‘You’ve obviously never been a clerk.’

‘Haven’t they given you a bonus or anything for saving that fellow’s life?’

‘Not Whitehall.’ Mori had told him about the medal, by way of convincing him to accept it, but he wasn’t meant to know that yet.

‘Typical.’ The conversation turned to Bruckner, but Thaniel listened more than he spoke. He finished his pint, then thought about leaving. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mori get up and tell Yamashita goodnight. After a minute, he followed, and met Mori outside the door.

‘Shall we walk?’ he said. Mori nodded and they started through the fog towards Knightsbridge. The moon was out, and the windows of the shops and grocers were lit up for Christmas. ‘Well?’ he said at last.

‘I’m not going to comment on the story,’ Mori said. ‘But the music—to hear it properly—it was wonderful. Better than it had any right to be.’

‘That’s a good way of putting it.’

‘You played beautifully.’

Thaniel watched three cabs overtake them, and after each one he made up his mind to speak. Mori was silent, though he’d never come so close to asking before. Would he go on doing it? he wanted to say. And ought he? Was he good enough? He drew a breath, and said instead, ‘I don’t think I’ll go to Edinburgh after all.’

He glanced at Mori, who looked taken aback.

‘I’m certain Annabel doesn’t really want to put me up. She’s asking out of politeness. And I’d rather be here.’

‘I’m glad,’ Mori said after a pause.

‘You thought I’d go?’

‘Yes. But it’ll be a good thing. For Six. To start with her as we mean to go on.’

‘Why didn’t you say so before?’

Mori sighed. ‘It didn’t seem right to interfere. Although’—he hesitated—‘it might help to know that you’ll be seeing more of your sister soon. She’s met a draper from Cambridge.’

‘Has she?’ Thaniel took a moment to turn that over. ‘Well, then, you might have told me that!’

‘I did consider making some snow vials so there’d be no question of leaving the house at all. But I have principles.’

‘You idiot.’ Thaniel shook his head and laughed, watching his breath steam. He put his hands in his overcoat pockets and quickened his pace. Mori fell into step. A group of theatregoers approached, heading for the Strand, and Thaniel waited for them to pass before he spoke again. ‘Not that I don’t appreciate making my choices like anyone else. I do. But you’re allowed to ask for things you want!’

Mori looked like he was going to protest, then changed his mind. ‘All right,’ he said quietly.

Thaniel hummed a phrase from the operetta as they turned a corner. On their left was a block of flats with a deep arched entrance, far enough away from the gaslights to be dark inside. The street was quiet. They had never yet taken a risk in public, but all at once he could have run to Knightsbridge. He grasped Mori’s wrist, hearing him take a sharp breath, and tugged him inside the porch. When they were hidden from the street he let go, because Mori was reaching for the collar of his overcoat, then pushing him backwards against the wall. He was laughing again when Mori kissed him.

The clockwork mouse scurried across the top of the piano. ‘How can it climb like that?’ Thaniel said.

Mori shrugged as he passed by with the tea-tray. He put it on the table and settled into an armchair with a cup and a biscuit. Six was under a blanket in the other chair, asleep in the glow of the fire. The scent of tea mingled with pine from the tree, which was bright with Mori’s fireflies.

The mouse ran up Six’s blanket to curl into a ball in the crook of her elbow, and she stirred and bent her arm around it. She’d knocked on Mori’s door at dawn, after she found it under her pillow, to tell him that its name was Bartholomew Roberts.

Thaniel ran his fingers over the keys. His playing never seemed to wake her. In the window, he saw Mori’s reflection bending to put a log on the fire.

He began a carol, then when Mori needled him by asking for Mozart, played it through to the end. He looked up when there were a few notes left. Mori had turned a little towards the fire, and the light flickered behind his profile. Still watching him, Thaniel began to play ‘Ode to Joy’.

Mori caught his eye, startled. For a moment he looked far away, and then he smiled. ‘That’s an old joke, Thaniel,’ he said. It was that rare smile that lit up his whole face, not only his eyes, and by it Thaniel knew that he understood.


End file.
